Apparitions By Moonlight
by Saiph
Summary: Two people meet by the light of the moon. A one-shot futurefic.


**_Disclaimer: _Not mine. Characters belong to JK Rowling.**

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**_Apparitions By Moonlight_**

Hurry, they'll be there soon. I don't want you to miss them.

"Did I mention I love you?"

"Yes."

"Oh. I - You did hear me, then?"

"Yes, I heard you."

A battle was held here once, you know. 

"And will you find me? When you come back from, from, where you're going?"

"Ye- No-" Exasperation. "Look, it's over. It's already over. Why can't you see that?"

The castle, a school it was then, was held siege for 40 days and nights. Dragons unleashed fire from above, as windows were barricaded to the army outside. Towers fell, children cried, curses were howled at their foes... Well, so they say, at least. I don't know, of course; the story has long since degenerated into legend and myth. Now, only these gardens remain, and the ruins of the castle stand deserted.... But a few are still here who could tell the truth. If only one would remember, if only the other would speak to us. 

"But..." a stunned pause. "What do you mean 'it's over'? You can't do this - didn't you hear me? I said I-"

"I know," soothing, but threaded with frustration, "I know, love. But, listen to me, listen! _It's all already over._"

Can you hear the streams, with water so pure and clear, as they trickle gently down their rocky trails to the lake below? See the hidden and overgrown paths lined with trees and soaked with the smell of oak, ash and sycamore – does the scent pervade your senses, as it does mine? Look now, my dear, at the rough worn stone steps, leading from water's edge up to the castle above – and do you see the bright full moon watching us through leaves overhead?

A murmur, "I don't understand..." gives way to anger. "How can you say we're over? Is this some stupid fucking way of trying to protect me? Because you needn't bother, for God's sake, it's far too late for that! You're coming back, do you hear me? And after you do –"

Quietly, "There was no after."

"What the hell are you talking about?" An outburst bred from deep rooted confusion. "There was, there is, agh, there _will be an after! After this battle, after the war, you and I, we'll have our future! Don't you dare give up now, do you hear me, or I'll kill you myself! You'll come back, and we'll make it through!"_

But hush now, we're here, watch. The scuffed, grey shoes – trainers, they were called – that move slowly down the stone staircase, do you see them? Do you see the boy wearing them? He pauses now, look, and glances back - a study in monochrome as though God himself put aside his palette for charcoal and ink, wouldn't you agree? 

But listen, he speaks. Weary, he's so weary; listen to his voice, hear how quiet it is. 

"But I didn't. And _we_ didn't."

And now, look. Over yonder, beneath that oak, standing in the shadow of the branches, do you see his companion? Peer through the darkness now, see the hesitation on that face as confusion yields to comprehension. 

"... Wh-? Why are you speaking as though this has already happened?"

The path down to the jetty, the path they stand on now, was used during the war, the same war that tore down the towers. And, y'see, it was by moonlight that those who would be victorious began their journey over the lake to steal into the enemy's camp. That night, so says the legend, lives were lost over the water, and the hearts of those left behind were broken. But, those shattered people who remained here, the stories claim that some of them refused to live without their love for long.

So see him now, that boy in trainers whose name time has forgotten, see him sob. He'll murmur now, like he always does, "God, please." And watch him breathe deeply, as though he still needs it, as though his body still craves air. "Because it has happened, love. Why can't you remember?"

Did you hear him? Isn't it sad? It's only by the light of the full moon, you see, that these ghosts come out to play, to have this same conversation, over and over. One remembers, one refuses to, always living in the past, whilst clinging to dreams of a future they'll never have. 

Do you see them, my dear? Aren't they handsome together, standing in the moonlight?

fin


End file.
